[ she nearly texts back something petulant and impatient, but then... doesn't. class happens, she gets distracted.
but, during a break in her night class, she sends him a selfie: of her sitting in one of the study lounges on the building's top floor, an oversized university sweatshirt swallowing her frame. one that might look a little familiar. ]
i think somebody turned down the heat in this building tonight...
[ He's a little late responding to this one, too, but when he finally gets to glance at his screen, he's torn between indignation and the sort of smug satisfaction that can only come from seeing a sexual parter wrapped up in your clothes.
Still, he can hold onto indignation for a little bit before his baser instincts take over. ]
[ Hang on, his brain needs to reboot for a second. You'd think a man who'd been up close and personal with her nipples before wouldn't be so blindsided by the thought that there's absolutely nothing between an item of his clothing and said nipples, but you'd be wrong. ]
[ go ahead and miss her, matthew. think about her half-naked under that sweatshirt, sitting in a lecture hall impatient and eager for six pm on the dot. ]
[ He can't believe her. How the hell is he supposed to sit through endless sob stories about why someone needs an extension on their paper when he's thinking about her nipples, this is so rude. ]
[ she is absolutely a tease. she's also the kind of tease who looks at her phone, but doesn't reply. class is almost over, anyway, and she has to make a stop afterwards to drop off her things at her apartment — so by the time matthew's secretary (excuse her, his department's secretary) lets him know he has a last minute visitor to office hours, it's just a few minutes past six. ]
you wouldn't turn away a student in need, would you?
[ It's probably a blessing that she doesn't continue to text him, because he really doesn't need to be thinking about her tits while he's dealing with his own students. Daisy likes to tease him about how they all want to sleep with him to improve their grades, and she may not be entirely wrong, but he tries hard not to let his mind wander to sexual thoughts when dealing with barely-legal co-eds. He may be a gross pervert who has sex with a girl much younger than him, but he has some standards, thank you.
He's just contemplating whether or not he should pack up his things or try and text her again when his phone buzzes, followed quickly by the phone on his desk ringing.
He knows who this is.
Yeah, thanks Sharon. Just send her back, it's okay. But she's the last one, okay, tell everyone else I've already gone home.
Sharon, the department secretary who is old enough to be and acts just like his mother, chuckles and promises to lie on his behalf, before presumably covering the receiver and telling Daisy to go on ahead. Thanking her again, Matt hangs up and straightens his clothing as he walks towards his door, sticking his head out and waiting until he sees Daisy at the end of the hall before calling out to her, loud enough for Sharon to overhear: ]
Alright, c'mon, I'll squeeze you in before I go home. What's up, Daisy?
[ his co-ed students want to sleep with him because he's their professor. the presumed boost to their grades is just a bonus. daisy, on the other hand, wants to fuck him simply because she wants to do it, and because he's particularly good at it. (she wants to see him for entirely different reasons, but she's not thinking about that right now.)
as for his question... well, she doesn't bother to answer it. instead, she ducks under the arm that's propped against his open doorframe, slipping past him and into the office; it's only once he closes and locks the door behind her that a laugh slips past her once tightly-pressed lips, echoing between them as she pulls herself up onto the corner of his desk.
a familiar scene, maybe. only this time, it's just an oversized university sweatshirt and leggings between the air and her skin, and a head filled with dirty thoughts she had fully intended to place there. ]
Hi, baby. [ all sweetness and sugar, as if she hasn't been purposefully driving him crazy for the last hour, a finger crooked in his direction. ] Miss me?
[ At least this time he can pretend that the closed and locked door is to sell the lie that he's not in his office.
It's hard to care much about that, though, when Daisy hoists herself up onto his desk, her legs swinging coyly, and smirks at him like she knows exactly just what he's been thinking of for the past hour. He'd be annoyed — he is, to be honest, but not enough to do anything about it — but she looks good in his clothes, her leggings doing nothing to hide the shape of her legs from him, the legs he has vivid memories of wrapped around him. ]
You're going to get me fired. [ He doesn't seem to mind, if the way he stalks towards her is any indication, his hands automatically lifting to cup her jaw so he can tilt her head back and lean in to kiss her forcefully, stepping between her knees and pulling her up against him. ] And then who'll fuck you like I do?
[ she's dead and gone the moment he moves towards her, melting with a groan in the back of her throat as his mouth claims her own, her hands looping up around his neck by instinct alone when he tugs her forward. god, but he knows how to handle her; there's barely a second that passes after he asks the (presumably rhetorical) question before daisy breathes out an easy, effortless, ] Nobody.
[ but it's true, really. nobody ever has, she doubts anyone ever will. he's gotten under her skin, found all the little things that make her tick, even gone so far as to teach her things she likes that she never would have dreamed of alone. ]
Are you gonna fuck me, or are you still mad at me for stealing your shirt?
[ pretty please, breathed out in all but words, nails scraping gently along the nape of his neck as his mouth skims over her skin. ]
[ At least she's just as easy for him as he is for her; it's very gratifying to have her play coquettish one minute and then immediately melt into him the next, like he's just too sexy for her to be able to even pretend to resist him for long. He's not sure if that's true, but he appreciates the fact that she seems to think so. It makes the fact that he thinks very similar thoughts about her a lot less embarrassing. ]
Yes. [ Going to fuck her? Still mad? Unclear.
Well, the fact that he's going to fuck her is definitely clear, if the way he lets his hands drop from her neck to grip her waist tightly is any indication.
Sadly, he has other commitments tonight, so even though he promised her he'd eat her out, he's not going to be able to take the same leisurely path he's taken in the past, peeling her slowly out of her clothes and painting every inch of her with his mouth before winding up at his final destination. No, tonight has to be a much more economical affair, and he demonstrates that right out of the gate by taking her by the hips and pulling her off his desk, kissing her a little bit longer before regretfully pulling away and spinning her in his arms so her back is to his front. Sliding his hands back around her, one slipping up under his sweatshirt to palm her hot, smooth skin, the other sliding south so he can fit it comfortably between her thighs and grind up against her through her leggings, he noses in against the side of her head so he can murmur in her ear: ]
[ hot skin and warm hands shouldn't equal a shiver, and yet, daisy practically trembles with anticipation; there's not much more than a brief bob of her head before her body obeys the command, her head tipping back to lean into his chest for a little bit of support. if he hadn't spun her, she imagines his teeth might have dragged along the column of her exposed throat. as it is, a hand curves over the spot, tracing the path up to where his hands had so recently pressed against, cupping with a squeeze against the back of her neck. ]
You should check the pocket. [ of his (her) sweatshirt, less a pocket and more a sling for cold hands to tuck, where a small cellophane bag is tucked inside, containing colorful discs in individual wrappings. planning ahead? or just a tease, a reminder of that first visit when he'd been disappointingly unprepared. ] I got you something.
[ The quick way she responds to him has him murmuring to her again, a quiet good girl whispered into her hair as he watches her spread her hand up her neck like she's imagining where he ought to put his own. If only he had more time... ]
In a minute. [ He's a bit busy at the moment, his hands slipping up her hips to find the waistband of her leggings so he can tuck his fingers beneath that strong elastic and start to slide the whole lycra ensemble down. He catches the waistband of her panties as he goes, dragging them along with her leggings, until he can slide them down over the curve of her ass and beyond, not stopping until they're mid-thigh and hobbling her, keeping her from spreading her legs any wider. Kicking a foot in between hers, he reminds her not to let her legs close, and presses a hand to the middle of her back to push her down onto his desk. ] I'm busy.
[ he's obnoxiously attractive when he orders her around. it's not fair — how quickly, how easily she gives in, how much she loves the way his voice sounds when he murmurs good girl into her hair, how much she aches to please him just to hear him say it over and over again.
so when he pushes, she goes; there's no resistance, just the pliant bend of her body as his hand presses firm against her back. there's only the moan of appreciation at the touch, rumbling over the cool surface of his desk. whatever she might have tucked away, whatever intentions to surprise him she may have had, is lost to the wayside for the moment. it's all she can do to oblige him in keeping her legs as far apart as she can for now. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
but, during a break in her night class, she sends him a selfie: of her sitting in one of the study lounges on the building's top floor, an oversized university sweatshirt swallowing her frame. one that might look a little familiar. ]
i think somebody turned down the heat in this building tonight...
no subject
Still, he can hold onto indignation for a little bit before his baser instincts take over. ]
How did you even get that??
no subject
no subject
I can't believe you. I thought I lost it at the gym! You little thief.
[ It's hard to be mad when she looks so cute in it, though. ]
no subject
though i should warn you, it was too hot to wear anything underneath
no subject
I don't know if I believe you.
[ Is he angling to get her to send him a snap of her in just her bra?
Possibly. ]
no subject
you know i'd never lie to you.
no subject
You really weren't kidding.
[ Hang on, his brain needs to reboot for a second. You'd think a man who'd been up close and personal with her nipples before wouldn't be so blindsided by the thought that there's absolutely nothing between an item of his clothing and said nipples, but you'd be wrong. ]
no subject
they're calling us back
[ go ahead and miss her, matthew. think about her half-naked under that sweatshirt, sitting in a lecture hall impatient and eager for six pm on the dot. ]
no subject
[ He can't believe her. How the hell is he supposed to sit through endless sob stories about why someone needs an extension on their paper when he's thinking about her nipples, this is so rude. ]
no subject
you wouldn't turn away a student in need, would you?
no subject
He's just contemplating whether or not he should pack up his things or try and text her again when his phone buzzes, followed quickly by the phone on his desk ringing.
He knows who this is.
Yeah, thanks Sharon. Just send her back, it's okay. But she's the last one, okay, tell everyone else I've already gone home.
Sharon, the department secretary who is old enough to be and acts just like his mother, chuckles and promises to lie on his behalf, before presumably covering the receiver and telling Daisy to go on ahead. Thanking her again, Matt hangs up and straightens his clothing as he walks towards his door, sticking his head out and waiting until he sees Daisy at the end of the hall before calling out to her, loud enough for Sharon to overhear: ]
Alright, c'mon, I'll squeeze you in before I go home. What's up, Daisy?
no subject
as for his question... well, she doesn't bother to answer it. instead, she ducks under the arm that's propped against his open doorframe, slipping past him and into the office; it's only once he closes and locks the door behind her that a laugh slips past her once tightly-pressed lips, echoing between them as she pulls herself up onto the corner of his desk.
a familiar scene, maybe. only this time, it's just an oversized university sweatshirt and leggings between the air and her skin, and a head filled with dirty thoughts she had fully intended to place there. ]
Hi, baby. [ all sweetness and sugar, as if she hasn't been purposefully driving him crazy for the last hour, a finger crooked in his direction. ] Miss me?
no subject
It's hard to care much about that, though, when Daisy hoists herself up onto his desk, her legs swinging coyly, and smirks at him like she knows exactly just what he's been thinking of for the past hour. He'd be annoyed — he is, to be honest, but not enough to do anything about it — but she looks good in his clothes, her leggings doing nothing to hide the shape of her legs from him, the legs he has vivid memories of wrapped around him. ]
You're going to get me fired. [ He doesn't seem to mind, if the way he stalks towards her is any indication, his hands automatically lifting to cup her jaw so he can tilt her head back and lean in to kiss her forcefully, stepping between her knees and pulling her up against him. ] And then who'll fuck you like I do?
no subject
[ but it's true, really. nobody ever has, she doubts anyone ever will. he's gotten under her skin, found all the little things that make her tick, even gone so far as to teach her things she likes that she never would have dreamed of alone. ]
Are you gonna fuck me, or are you still mad at me for stealing your shirt?
[ pretty please, breathed out in all but words, nails scraping gently along the nape of his neck as his mouth skims over her skin. ]
no subject
Yes. [ Going to fuck her? Still mad? Unclear.
Well, the fact that he's going to fuck her is definitely clear, if the way he lets his hands drop from her neck to grip her waist tightly is any indication.
Sadly, he has other commitments tonight, so even though he promised her he'd eat her out, he's not going to be able to take the same leisurely path he's taken in the past, peeling her slowly out of her clothes and painting every inch of her with his mouth before winding up at his final destination. No, tonight has to be a much more economical affair, and he demonstrates that right out of the gate by taking her by the hips and pulling her off his desk, kissing her a little bit longer before regretfully pulling away and spinning her in his arms so her back is to his front. Sliding his hands back around her, one slipping up under his sweatshirt to palm her hot, smooth skin, the other sliding south so he can fit it comfortably between her thighs and grind up against her through her leggings, he noses in against the side of her head so he can murmur in her ear: ]
Spread your legs for me.
no subject
You should check the pocket. [ of his (her) sweatshirt, less a pocket and more a sling for cold hands to tuck, where a small cellophane bag is tucked inside, containing colorful discs in individual wrappings. planning ahead? or just a tease, a reminder of that first visit when he'd been disappointingly unprepared. ] I got you something.
no subject
In a minute. [ He's a bit busy at the moment, his hands slipping up her hips to find the waistband of her leggings so he can tuck his fingers beneath that strong elastic and start to slide the whole lycra ensemble down. He catches the waistband of her panties as he goes, dragging them along with her leggings, until he can slide them down over the curve of her ass and beyond, not stopping until they're mid-thigh and hobbling her, keeping her from spreading her legs any wider. Kicking a foot in between hers, he reminds her not to let her legs close, and presses a hand to the middle of her back to push her down onto his desk. ] I'm busy.
no subject
so when he pushes, she goes; there's no resistance, just the pliant bend of her body as his hand presses firm against her back. there's only the moan of appreciation at the touch, rumbling over the cool surface of his desk. whatever she might have tucked away, whatever intentions to surprise him she may have had, is lost to the wayside for the moment. it's all she can do to oblige him in keeping her legs as far apart as she can for now. ]